


A sense of role reversal

by ItStartedWithPotter



Category: Slave Breakers - maculategiraffe
Genre: AU: Slavery, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Future Fic, One Shot, Sickfic, main character is sick, sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItStartedWithPotter/pseuds/ItStartedWithPotter
Summary: Many many years after Bran and co. were freed, Bran finds himself in a role reversal. He is suddenly in the role of looking after, of caring and of bringing everyone together.This is a one-shot into the future, set a non-defined many years after the end of Lee. Marked as mature due to the difficult themes of sickness and health, please read with caution.





	A sense of role reversal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maculategiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maculategiraffe/gifts).



> Hello all! This is my first ever fic in the amazing world of Slave Breakers. I had the idea for this short little one-shot and it just wouldn't leave me alone. I don't know why my muse was so dark but hey, what can be said for muse...muse is a rebel.

Bran startled awake and as the clouds of dreamland cleared away, the noises of the hospital returned. In the distance a monitor was bleeping. A nurse was bustling around with the evening injections and the door kept opening and closing as relatives, friends and other visitors came to see the patients. Beyond the door, a woman was screaming loudly for someone to help her. But Bran’s focus was on the bed near which his chair was. Gingerly he got up, his neck hurting from the awkward position he had fallen into, whilst asleep.  
He approached the man in the bed and gently caressed the hair. Just then, the man started moving restlessly in the bed. 

“It’s okay. Shh. It’s fine, you’re fine. It was just a nightmare.” Bran soothed the elderly man and watched as consciousness took over and the man blinked his eyes open. Age and illness had done a number on the man. Frown lines more prominent on the sallow skin, eyes slightly sunken in and hair completely greyed. But when he locked eyes with Bran and gave a soft smile, it was the same smile he had smiled ever since Bran had known him.  
“Hey kid,”  
“Hey yourself, Sir”  
“I thought I was in the dungeon with him again,” his voice was just above a whisper but Bran heard the old fear anyway.  
“I know. It’s okay. You’re here. With me. You’re safe.” In return, all Bran got was a crinkling of the side of the eyes.  
They stayed silent, just watching one another. Their silent conversation was interrupted as a young woman walked towards the two men. Bran sensed business and took his eyes away to meet that of the woman.  
“Are you Bran Olafson?”  
“Yes, I am.”  
“Ah. We need you to sign the discharge documents on behalf of the patient.”  
Bran looked towards said patient to ascertain whether to sign or not. They had agreed years in advance that he would have power of attorney in exactly these types of situations. But he hadn’t really thought about the role-reversal of it all and it made him feel strange.  
“Should you be speaking to me about that?” Bran said and realised a second too late that he had probably sounded aggressive rather than collaborative.  
“I can get a citizen, if you are uncomfortable talking to a slave.” The woman’s clear disdain of his attitude was obvious from the frost in her voice. Bran sighed and beckoned the woman to step away from the bed.  
“I didn’t even know you were a slave, Miss - ?”  
“Evans. I’m in training.” She replied, still sounding miffed.  
“Training?” Bran’s eyebrows were furrowed. Since when did sex slaves go into training at the hospital? He must have spoken out loud because a small chuckle met his ears.  
“My master is the CEO of the hospital. And I’m not his sex slave.”  
“Oh.” Bran flushed. “In that case, sorry. I must be a bit out of the loop.”  
Miss Evans raised her eyebrows and nodded. She thrust the documents in his face again and Bran was once again flustered.  
“Really. Can’t he just sign them himself?”  
“Sir. Your patient is chronically confused.” She stated. “He keeps talking about an old master of his and then the next moment he is demanding I bring his wife to the hospital. He is no state to sign his own discharge forms” She paused after this, waiting for Bran to do something but Bran just turned his head and absentmindedly started pulling on the curls of his hair. He let out a breath eventually and turned back to Miss Evans.  
“It’s just weird. Sorry. Yes, of course I’ll sign.” She nodded and handed the clipboard and pen to him. “What’s weird?” she asked gently.  
“The role reversal,” Bran said and gave a sad little smile.  
“Oh. Is he your father?” her face a perfect expression of concern.  
“He used to be my master.” Bran answered.  
“Oh Gods!” she said shocked and turned to look at the man in the bed.  
“Oh Gods, indeed.” Bran echoed.  


“Ask them to take off the chains,” Holden said twenty minutes later.  
“You’ll punch them if they do that,” Bran said.  
“Nah. Only if they ask me nicely,” Holden started coughing then and Bran rubbed his back soothingly.  
“Okay, I’ll ask the pretty boy next time he comes round.”  
“He looks like Lee,” Holden muttered. Bran gave him a bemused smile. “Lee isn’t exactly a pretty boy anymore.”  
“I want to go home, Bran.” He spoke softly and had fallen asleep again before Bran could reply. Bran sighed and spoke to himself as he assured Holden of exactly that.  


A week later, the palliative doctor came to visit Holden at home. He had been given a high dose of sedation and was asleep again.  
“You should probably start making end of life plans and tying up any loose ends.” Bran nodded at the doctor, who, he realised with a start, was at least ten years younger than Bran himself. When had he gotten so old?  
“Thank you doctor. Really, thank you.”  
The doctor nodded, shook Bran’s hand and politely excused himself.  
Bran took his seat next to Holden’s bed.  
He must have started to doze off because Holden’s voice woke him up and he could tell from the window that it had gone dark.  
“What will you do when I die?”  
“Start smoking,” Bran said, falling back to their old joke.  
“Don’t you dare. I’ll come back as a ghost and beat your ass!”  
Bran gave a weak chuckle as he poured a glass of water and handed it over. “You know I won’t, really.”  
“No. You’re a good boy.”  


They were sitting in the kitchen. Bran had made apple crumble and he smiled at the scene in front of him. Holden was wrapped up in a blanket and listening to one of Valor’s many stories.  
“It wasn’t my fault!” Valor was saying as Lee and Andrei were laughing.  
“Dear, did you at least apologise?”  
“Mum! I’m telling you! It was not my fault.” Even Bran quirked a smile and looked up from his baking to see Holden with a smile on his face, watching, as his daughter engaged Greta in a heated argument.  
“I’m just saying-“  
“You always think the worst of me-“  
“Okay, Okay. Enough you two.”  
Instantly everyone was quiet. It had been absolutely years since any of them were slaves but Holden’s quiet authority was ever present. Bran thought this a good time to bring his pie.  
“It’s good,” Andrei complimented.  
“Thanks my Lord. I have more time on my hands since closing the business for a few days.”  
“I’ve been telling you for years, you should open a restaurant,” Valor added as she checked her phone. “Oh dad, people at work were asking if you were the one and only slave-breakers and I told them to fuck off-“  
Everyone on the table groaned.  
“You’re so vulgar, Valor,” Holden said affectionately.  
“Why do they still bring this up?” Greta muttered.  
“Alix would be rolling in her grave right now,” Bran added.  
“Wait until I tell Jer. He’ll demand to see these co-worker of yours,”  
The crumble pie and the pitcher of punch disappeared and the echoes of old stories and laughter carried on well into the night.  


Yves had picked up on one ring. It had been a brief conversation because Yves had to get back to his students. But he had sent Bran a message detailing that his train would arrive at Tenarus Central that evening.  
The situation with Holden had worsened.  
When Yves arrived, he totally ignored Holden and went straight to the play room. He brought a sling and a whip and demanded that Holden ‘get his sick ass ready for a whipping’. How dare he get so ill?  
And then Yves broke down crying and for the whole evening Holden sat in his old arm chair and stroked Yves’ hair as both Yves and Bran clutched on to Holden’s leg for dear life.  
It was exactly like before but also nothing like it at all.  


Jer had been difficult to contact but Bran tried every hour. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react. Everyone was downstairs but he, Bran, sat in the office. Yves’ email on accounts was open and it was giving him a headache trying to understand when his phone buzzed. He braced himself and hit the connect button.  
“Jer?”  
“Hey kid,” came the deep voice.  
“Hey.”  
“How are you?”  
“It’s fine. I’m fine. How have you been?”  
He heard Jer rumble from the other side of the phone.  
“Kid, you’ve always been crap at lying. And I know you’re not fine.”  
Maybe it was the gentle tone. Or maybe the familiarity of being called ‘kid’. Or maybe it was just time but silent tears slid down Bran’s cheeks.  
“Bran? Tell me,” came the gentle command.  
Bran started sobbing as he spoke. “It’s sir. It’s Holden.”  
“You need to come home.” Bran sobbed.  
There was silence on the other line and eventually Jer’s voice came through.  
“I’ll be there kid. I got you. We’ll be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this made you sad. It made me sad writing it.  
> Disclaimer: No medical description is meant to be representative of real medical practice.  
> Thank you as always to Maculategiraffe for this brilliant series and to all the fans for keeping this fandom alive and kicking.  
> Peace  
> -Vitzy-


End file.
